Fear Not
by couchbarnacle
Summary: Ex-Army Doctor, Fluffy Kitten, Adorable Hedgehog, Three Continents John Watson meets the only person who has ever disapproved of him: Mummy Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

"I just am not sure that this is the best idea." Lestrade said hesitantly.

"Why not?" John asked, finishing off his pint. "You're going, right?"

"Yeah, of course." Lestrade sighed heavily. "Mrs. Holmes practically delivered the embossed invitation herself. I'm pretty sure she'd have my head if I didn't show."

"An invitation?" John asked."Sherlock didn't mention an invitation."

"What did Sherlock say exactly?" Lestrade inquired.

"He said that he had to go his family's estate for a holiday and that I could come if I want." John said suddenly feeling incredibly unsure. "I don't have anywhere else to go and he didn't sound like it was that big of a deal."

"I don't know how to tell you this, mate, without sounding like an incredibly posh twat." Lestrade sighed, playing with his pint glass. "But there is one reason, and one reason only why Mrs. Holmes approves of me dating her son."

"And what's that?" John asked.

"My family owns 30% of the vineyards in the south of France." Lestrade blustered embarrassed.

"Oh." John said. "Wow."

"It's not _that_ big of a deal." Lestrade said flustered. "I mean, I'm not running the business or anything. That's more my older sister's thing, but Mrs. Holmes contracts with us for her social events."

"So, she likes money?" John asked feeling his stomach drop heavily.

"She just wants her sons 'taken care of'." Lestrade said unable to meet John's eye.

"They're grown men." John said confused. "One of them single-handedly runs the country. The other…well, okay…Sherlock definitely needs a certain level of care…but I mean. They're adults."

"They're her babies." Lestrade said heavily. "They deserve someone 'worthy of them' as she says and that translates almost exclusively into a large bank account and a respected family."

"Well," John said confused. "Sherlock and I…we're…I mean, we fit, ya know. Isn't that more important?"

"I know that." Lestrade said purposefully. "And the people that matter know that, but just don't be surprised if Mrs. Holmes doesn't warm up to you."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." John said quickly. "People like me. I'm incredibly likeable. Once she sees us together, she'll understand. She'll have to."

"Just be careful." Lestrade said quietly. "Where do you think those crazy buggers get their tenacity?"

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"My dear darling boy!" A petite woman in a sharp black pantsuit called happily from the entrance to a sprawling country estate. She shuffled over on uncomfortably high heels and pulled her youngest son into a tight hug before kissing him on both cheeks twice and once on his forehead.

"Hello, Mummy." Sherlock said with a subdued smirk lighting his features.

"Look at you!" She cooed, holding his face in her well-manicured hands. "You look marvelous, my dear. Is that Gucci? You look smashing. Come inside and we'll get you some tea."

"Mummy," Sherlock said, stopping her from pulling him into the house with a hand on her shoulder. "I want to introduce you to John Watson."

John put on his best smile as he waited for Mrs. Holmes to turn to look at him. With barely a flicker of a glance, she sighed heavily before saying, "Charmed, Mr. Watson."

"He's a doctor, mummy." Sherlock corrected her awkwardly.

"Oh?" She said. "Where's your practice?"

"Well," He tried to answer. "I don't have my own practice. Right now I just work part-time at a clinic near our flat."

"I'm sure that's…nice…" She said before pulling her son into the house. "Henry? Please help John with the bags and show him to their rooms. Sherlock, I just have to show you what I picked up for you in Florence. You'll just die…"

John felt his stomach twist with anxiety as he turned to help the butler with the bags. He walked awkwardly behind the silent employee. Henry stopped in front of a room and dropped Sherlock's bags lightly beside the door. John went to enter as well but he was stopped short by the man.

"Excuse me, sir." Henry said blandly. "Your room is in a different part of the house."

"But…" John said feeling his cheeks redden. "We…we're…"

"Lady's orders, you understand." Henry said before turning quickly and leading him down the hall. It was five minutes and two flights of stairs later that he was dropped off at a smaller room. He entered to find two small twin beds.

"The Lady does apologize, sir." Henry spoke like he was rattling off a speech. "But, all the other rooms were taken and considering we didn't receive an RSVP, this was the only room left."

"It's fine." John said, swallowing past his nausea. "This is great. Thank you, Henry."

"Of course." Henry said before turning on his heel and stalking back down the hall.

John felt dread burn through his body as he dropped his old duffle on one of the beds and ran his hands over his face roughly.

"This was a terrible idea." He muttered to himself.

He quickly changed into a nicer pair of trousers before leaving the room and backtracking through the house to the main hall. He heard voices coming from a parlor and entered with a pained smile just to freeze in place at the scene in front of him.

A man, a…well…frankly gorgeous man was resting his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and Sherlock was grinning broadly.

"John." Sherlock called happily. "Come meet Victor. We went to university together. He was my chemistry lab partner."

"Hello." John said gritting his teeth and trying to force a pleasant smile onto his features.

"It's so great to meet you." Victor said with a thousand watt smile and deep brown eyes.

"Victor," Sherlock said. "This is John, my…flatmate…"

And that was officially the nail in the coffin for the completely awful terrible stupid decision to come this weekend.

"Victor works at a prestigious pharmaceutical company in New York." Mrs. Holmes fluttered around with a smarmy grin on her face. "His mother is also on the board for Harrods. We often sit down to tea together when I'm in town. It's just so lucky that he happened to be home for a few days."

An awkward silence fell over the group and thankfully they were saved by the entrance of Lestrade and Mycroft.

"Oh, my boys!" Mrs. Holmes almost shrieked. She pulled them both into a big hug and even went so far as to pinch Lestrade's cheeks.

"Are you taking care of my baby, Gregory?" Mrs. Holmes asked with a gleeful little chuckle.

"We take care of each other, Mummy." Lestrade said with a smile.

"Oh, you two." She responded.

"Mummy." Mycroft said with an indulgent smirk. "Let us know where our room is so that we can have Henry drop our bags off."

"The East suite, my darling." She said before kissing her eldest again. "Go get settled in and then meet us for tea."

"Yes, Mummy." Mycroft said dutifully.

"Victor, Sherlock." She called out. "Join me for a tour of the garden. I want to show you what I've done since the last time you were here."

"I'm sure John would like to come as well." Sherlock said off-hand. "Go ahead without us. We'll catch up."

Mrs. Holmes sighed heavily before latching on to Victor's well-toned bicep and leading him out of the room.

The minute they were out of sight, Sherlock turned to crowd close to John latching onto his waist and resting his head against John's neck.

"I feel like I should apologize." Sherlock whispered.

"It's fine." John breathed in relief, finally feeling like he'd found some stability since he'd entered the house.

"I didn't know that Victor was invited." Sherlock sighed into his neck.

"Did you…" John stammered. "I mean, were you…"

"No." Sherlock said quietly. "It was just never the right time."

"Oh." John said simply.

"Which room are we in?" Sherlock asked pressing kisses lightly against the sensitive skin near John's ear. "Maybe we could spend a little time relaxing before dinner."

"Oh," John murmured. "We're not in the same room."

"What?" Sherlock asked pulling back. "Why not?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Sherlock." John said heavily. "I'm on the fourth floor."

Sherlock went quiet as he searched John's face before kissing him lightly on the temple.

"I'll talk to her." Sherlock said quietly.

In Sherlock's defense, he did try to talk to his mother but, unfortunately, it went like this:

"Mummy," Sherlock said, pulling her aside before tea. "John will be moving his belongings into my suite."

"Now Sherlock," She chided softly. "You know how I feel about couples sharing rooms before marriage."

"Mycroft and Lestrade aren't married." Sherlock huffed.

"Yes, but they're in a serious relationship." She waved away his comment. "They're practically married as it is."

"John and I are serious as well." Sherlock countered, feeling his stomach shift uncomfortably.

"Honey," Mummy said with a sigh. "I'm sure Mr. Watson is a…fine…individual. But he is certainly not the type of man that you, my dear heart, should settle down with. You deserve someone much more…stable…and…secure…than a man who can't even support his own lifestyle."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked, feeling wrongfooted and incredibly tense.

"A little birdie told me that he has repeatedly asked _you_ for money and takes money from your hard-earned work as a detective." Mrs. Holmes gasped. "I just can't allow you to commit seriously to a man who sponges off of you because he is too incompetent to maintain a full-time job."

Sherlock was speechless as his mother shuffled off to ensure the tea service was perfect. He turned to see the flushed and defeated features of his ex-army doctor peeking out from the doorway before he stumbled back and made his way quickly up to his room at the top of the house.

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"John…" Lestrade called, knocking on the door to his room. "I'm coming in."

Lestrade entered to find John repacking his bag and shoving his arms through his jacket.

"You were right." John said lifting his bag onto his shoulder and avoiding his friend's gaze. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were thinking that you love that posh git and you want to be a part of his life." Lestrade said firmly.

"We don't…" John stuttered. "We haven't…"

"That doesn't mean that you don't." Lestrade said, leaning heavily against the door jamb. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Go ahead." John sighed. "I obviously can't trust my own judgement."

"Just head back to London." Lestrade grumbled. "The only thing that you being here will do is make her say even worse things."

"And leave Sherlock here with a bloody Adonis?" John asked hopelessly. "They'll probably be married with adoption papers processed by Thursday."

"You're forgetting one very important thing." Lestrade said wryly. "This is Sherlock. You're the only one that can stand the posh git."

"Thank you." John said sarcastically. "It's nice to know that Sherlock is only with me because no one else will have him."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Lestrade chided. "You were a soldier, John. Pity parties are beneath you. Think of this as a tactical retreat."

"You'll keep an eye on him for me?" John asked tentatively.

"I'll consider it a pleasure." Lestrade said. "It'll keep me busy and avoiding dear Mummy's demands to make an 'honest man' of her son."

"Thanks Greg." John sighed.

"No problem." Lestrade answered. "What are friends for?"

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"John…" Sherlock urged. "I know that it looks bad…"

"Sherlock," John cut him off. "I shouldn't have come. That's obvious now. Have a good time with your family and I'll see you on Tuesday."

"She's just…" Sherlock tried again.

"I get it." John said quickly. "I do. Just try not to get engaged while I'm gone, yeah?"

"Hardly." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tuesday?"

"Tuesday." John reassured him and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly before heading out the door to wait for his taxi to the station.

John began to make his way down the driveway as he saw the taxi approaching the house when he heard his name shouted. He turned to find Mrs. Holmes shuffling after him.

"Mr. Watson!" She called.

He sighed heavily before answering, "Yes, Mrs. Holmes?"

"You forgot to say goodbye." She chided. "That's terrible manners, you understand."

"I'm so sorry." John bit out. "How rude of me. Goodbye."

"I must say," She said with a shark grin. "I am sorry to hear about your clinic needing you back in London. But this might make the gathering more intimate, you know. It will be just a family gathering now. So much nicer."

"Yes, well." John said sharply before turning to enter the taxi.

"I just want you to know." She called. "I understand your feelings for my son. He is truly an extraordinary individual. But I think we both know he deserves more than just a bit of rough on the side, don't you?"

John felt his entire chest flood with humiliation and anger as his face shaded to crimson. He slammed the door after himself and gave the two finger salute to the now empty courtyard as the cab took him back toward London, back toward home.

John arrived home late that evening weighed down not only by his carry-all but by a resurrected feeling of worthlessness that he hadn't felt since before Sherlock returned. He tried to shake off the lethargy with a cuppa and his blog. He still had a few cases to write up over the past couple of weeks. He spent Saturday and Sunday working extra hours at the clinic and volunteering at the homeless shelter. He spent time with Mrs. Hudson and helped her carry her groceries considering her hip didn't seem to be getting better at all. He met Dimmock for a pint and watched crap telly. It was a pretty quiet weekend without his consulting detective around.

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Sherlock collapsed against the recently reupholstered couch with a huge sigh and frown. He didn't like being without John, but Mummy had beckoned and he couldn't say no and John was obviously uncomfortable so he didn't want to manipulate him into staying and Mummy was being horrible anyway just like always and so he just sat their brooding as they waited for the dinner bell with everyone else involved in the discussion of this season's grapes or some such nonsense.

"Sherlock." His mother chided softly. "Victor asked you a question."

"He turned to face his old university lab partner with a raised eye brow.

"I was just wondering about that whole situation from a few years ago." Victor said with a smile. "You faked your death for three years? That must have been an adventure."

Sherlock let those memories seep into his consciousness as he recalled his exhaustion and anger and desperation and isolation. His weeks spent in drab little hovels, chasing petty criminal after petty criminal all for the ultimate goal of dismembering Moriarty's organization. The cases were boring and pedestrian and so mind numbing that he'd started using again. There was no finesse. No brilliance. No game. Just tedium and loneliness.

He remembered the feeling of total relief as Moran was taken away in cuffs shouting and struggling. He recalled John's broken and empty gaze when he laid eyes on him for the first time in three years. He could still feel John's calloused fingers caressing his cheeks. The sound of John's gasp, his own fractured sob. The smell of John's skin and the taste of his lips. The overwhelming, shattering relief of having the one person that mattered to him in the entire world forgive him for three years of deception with the brush of fingers through his hair.

He thought of the struggle over the past six months to regain their ease around each other. The fight to feel normal again, like partners again. The strange and awkward moments of nightmares and the pain of detox and the recovery of their trust in each other. The humbling knowledge that John was giving him the chance to be more himself and more comfortable in his own skin than he'd ever been before with a simple quirk of his lips and shrug of his shoulders.

He was pulled back to the present and turned away to gaze out the window before answering Victor's query, "Not terribly exciting, no."

"I know he gave me several heart attacks." Mummy tittered. "Mycroft waited a whole twenty minutes before ensuring me that Sherlock wasn't actually dead. And to think, he didn't contact me once that entire time. I made him swear to visit me whenever I told him to after that little stunt. I deserve as much after going through all of that pain."

"So you met John after you returned, then?" Victor asked casually.

"No," Mrs. Holmes cut in with an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Watson seems to have been following Sherlock around for years now."

"Dr. John Watson," Mycroft cut in to almost everyone's astonishment. "Has been a faithful and trusted companion of Sherlock's for five years now."

Lestrade grasped his partner's hand gratefully across the couch with a wide grin and felt his heart squeeze as a pink flush spread across Mycroft's features before he returned to texting his PA back in London.

The conversation veered away to more mundane topics after that. Victor and Lestrade found they shared a love of rugby and spent most of the dinner discussing their respective teams, Mycroft rested his hand lightly on his lover's lower back while continuing to review the documents being sent to him on his phone, Sherlock stared listlessly out whatever window was closest hardly touching his food, and Mummy seemed to have trouble regaining her earlier feelings of triumph as she found it harder and harder to engage her youngest son in discussions about possible tours of Europe that she would like him to accompany her on for a few months in the fall.

The rest of the weekend seemed to pass by at a glacial pace for Sherlock. He spent most of it holed up in his father's library creating a list of possible experiments to begin back at home and brushing off his mother's attempts at matchmaking as much as possible. Victor joined him and they discussed theory as well as the real world application of the proposed experiments. If his mother had been paying attention, she would have noticed the faint crayon marks on his shirt sleeves and traces of perfume on his travel bags. Obviously, he is in a serious relationship with a woman with a small child from a previous marriage.

He was suffering through as well as he could with his promise to his mother always at the forefront of his mind when he finally came to his senses Sunday afternoon as they were just about to sit down to tea.

"It's always nice," Mrs. Holmes began trying to subtly reiterate her point, "When one is surrounded by family. It's unsettling to try to entertain unwanted guests."

"You know, Mummy." Sherlock said with a faint grin tugging at his lips. "I believe you're right."

With that, he rose from his chair and made his way back up the stairs to pack his bags.

"I'm sorry." Mrs. Holmes said, looking around the room at everyone else. "I'm not sure what just happened."

"It's you, Mrs. Holmes." A quiet, confident voice said from the corner of the room. Now Mr. Holmes is an incredibly unobtrusive sort of person. He's fiercely intelligent, exceedingly observant, and intensely private. He has lived on this estate since he was a child. He grew up, got married to a socialite because it was expected, had an heir because it was needed, had another child because it's what his wife wanted, and got back to living the life that he loved: Studying geology and making month-long trips to study natural phenomenon around the globe. He loves his children as one is supposed to, assists them when they require it, and leaves them to their own lives like they want him to in the interim. He spent time with them as children and taught them how to take the facts of the earth and develop theories as to what those pieces of evidence mean. His sons have taken that information and translated it into their own fields. He lets his wife do as she pleases because he abhors domestics and frankly doesn't want to waste energy on such puerile topics. Rarely does he make his presence known and everyone is completely at ease with the status quo.

He's spent most of the last three days in his greenhouse and on teleconference calls to Taiwan, Bolivia, and Whales. He's been on the outer rim of the events with Sherlock's young man and while he doesn't approve of his wife's behavior, he trusts that Sherlock is strong enough and independent enough to overlook her obvious idiocy and make his own life choices. He, of course, is proven correct.

"Pardon me?" Mrs. Holmes inquires of her husband.

"You're unwanted." He says simply. "He's going back to his family. The family he chose. Sorry, dear, but you fall short."

He didn't waste any energy watching his wife sputter and gasp in outrage as she began to stalk out of the room to spend her energy irritating Henry with complaints of dizziness and heart palpitations. Mr. Holmes continues to review his travel arrangements for his three month sojourn to the Arctic without another glance toward the other occupants of the room. He vaguely remembers his humming response to Mycroft's approval of his actions but tunes everything else out. He has much more important things to worry about.

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Sherlock is on the front steps of 221 Baker Street just before seven that evening. He unlocks the door, drops his luggage in the entry way and then vaults up the stairs to find John curled up on the sofa with a book in his lap sleeping soundly. He shrugged his coat off before leaning over his partner and placing a firm kiss on his gloriously familiar lips. John jumped from the contact but quickly returned the sentiment. Sherlock shifted to perch next to his hip on the sofa as he leaned over John and continued to run delicate kisses along his jawline.

"It's not Tuesday." John said trying to abstain from giggling at Sherlock's tickling caresses.

"Not quite, no." Sherlock answered before claiming his lips again and sliding his tongue lusciously against John's. His doctor ran his hands over Sherlock's waist pulling at the belt loops on his trousers to get him closer. They kissed languidly on the couch slowing growing more desperate with lust and need.

"Bed." John gasped, feeling his arousal pulse against the coarse fibers of his jeans. At Sherlock's soft growl they both stumbled to the bedroom pulling each other's clothes off, grasping at skin, and nipping at each other's throats. John tripped on the hem of his jeans and fell into Sherlock who yelped and collapsed onto the sheets of their bed. They giggled lightly as they fought to get the rest of their clothes off.

John slithered down his partner's lanky frame before sucking on the skin that covered those graceful hips. Sherlock moaned as John moved to rest his lips against the silky head of the detective's cock. Running his tongue along the delicate veins, John relished the groans and gasps that were coming from his partner.

"John, wait." Sherlock breathed heavily, tugging at his arm to get him to lie next to him on the pillows. He wrapped his arms tightly around John's body needing that contact like he needed air.

"What is it?" John asked feeling uncertainty tingle along his skin.

"I missed you." Sherlock murmured into his neck. "I didn't…I didn't like being away from you."

"I missed you too." John said. "Did something happen after I left?"

John felt his entire body tense as worst case scenarios flew through his mind knowing that Sherlock would notice them as well.

"I need you to know…" Sherlock said, practically pleading. "Just that…what you mean to me…"

John felt his heart swell and decided to save his genius from himself. He cupped Sherlock's face with both hands, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs before catching Sherlock's gaze.

"I love you." John said simply, but firmly. "Always."

Sherlock visibly deflated from his release of tension. He smiled fondly at his army doctor, "I love you, John. Thank you."

John tugged him close and kissed his lips delicately.

"I'm glad that's settled." John said lightly. "Is there anything else?"

"My mother can say terrible things." Sherlock whispered. "But I need you to know, that nothing she says will ever change how I feel about you."

"Thank you." John echoed him.

They lay there silently just breathing in each other's scent. It was a few minutes before John broke the quiet contemplation occurring.

"Sherlock?" John whispered.

"Yes?" Sherlock responded.

"This is all well and good and I'm chuffed, I really am." John said with a smirk. "But can we get back to you fucking me now?"

Sherlock baritone laugh cut through any residual tension and they resumed their well-deserved 'welcome home' romp.


	2. Chapter 2

"John!" Lestrade said angrily, trying to force his way into the nutty cranium of his best mate. "This is the worst idea you've ever had."

"Are you going to try to stop me?" John growled as he checked the clip on his Browning.

"It's a suicide mission!" Lestrade shouted. "We've counted at least seven felons on the ground floor alone. Do you honestly think that you have a chance to get him out of there against those odds?"

"I'm not the one that'll be getting him out." John said coldly. "Your team will."

"And your own plan is to what?" Lestrade mused. "Distract them with your one man tribute performance to Rambo? Will you be handing out popcorn and bootstraps as well?"

"Get Sherlock out." John said darkly before leaving the perimeter of unmarked police vehicles two blocks from the building where one, Sherlock Holmes, was being questioned rather enthusiastically of his knowledge of their incredibly illegal pharmaceutical drug smuggling operation.

"Is he honestly stopping at the shops?" Clarky asked curiously as he tracked John Watson disappearing into a shop. Lestrade tried to rally his people and get the extraction team in place causing him to almost miss John exiting the shop several minutes later with several rags and glass bottles of what looked like…oh, hell…that was definitely vodka.

They watched in a sort of stunned catatonia as their jumper-wearing companion quickly readied the Molotov cocktails before pulling out a lighter, setting the damn thing on fire, and then lobbing it several feet clear of the building in question. Lestrade quickly dispatched some uniforms to local businesses to evacuate the patrons and get them to safety just in case the flames burning up the alcohol in the middle of the pavement jumped to a building.

The cacophony of shouting and shrieks from Sherlock's captors caused enough chaos for Lestrade's people to travel inconspicuously down a connecting alley. They got the go ahead to break in to the building from the extraction team, stating ominously that the building seemed to be emptying at a rapid pace.

Lestrade felt something heavy weigh on his heart when he lost sight of John tossing his third cocktail at a group of criminals who were wavering on the brink of either chasing after the mad bastard or away from him. Lestrade's team followed protocol and found Sherlock looking worse for wear in a small storage room in the back of the building. He was on the verge of consciousness and they were just exiting the building with his weight carried between two uniforms when several gunshots rang out in the muggy August afternoon heat.

"John…" Sherlock gasped, almost voiceless from pain.

"I'm sure he's fine." Lestrade tried to sound on confident. "Causing a bit of a distraction, that's all."

"Wasn't a Browning…" Sherlock murmured before dropping like a stone between his two carriers.

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"Oh thank god." John wheezed through dry, chapped lips and painfully sore ribs where the bullet had grazed him. He'd just come out of the sedation to find Sherlock looking rather battered himself perched on the hospital chair next to his bed. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" Sherlock seethed. "You're asking if I'm fine, John? Really? I'm not the one who was a fucking idiot."

"Sherlock…" John began.

"No, John." Sherlock said darkly. "You don't get to say anything. That was the most ludicrous thing that you have ever done and it won't be happening again."

"Don't for a second think that I wouldn't lay down my life for you, Sherlock." John said fiercely. "I would do anything to save you."

"Is that so?" Sherlock said angrily.

"Yes, it's so." John answered.

"Only one solution then." Sherlock said firmly. "You're going to marry me."

"Excuse me?" John squeaked.

"You heard me." Sherlock continued. "You're going to marry me and then you'll belong to me and I can stop you from being an idiot."

"That's a bit not good…" John tried.

"And I'll belong to you," Sherlock said, his voice cracking finally. "And you can stop me from running off without you so you won't have to do anything like that again…I couldn't bear it…if anything happened…"

John felt his entire chest lurch as his partner seemed to crumple under the very idea of them being separated again.

"Come here." John gestured as he tried to shift over. Sherlock crawled carefully under the sheets to curl around him and wrap his long fingers firmly around John's wrist and waist carefully avoiding his ribs. They rested together for several minutes before John broke the silence.

"Were you serious?" John asked gently. "Did you really ask me to marry you?"

"I didn't ask, John." Sherlock said desperately. "You have to. Please."

"Of course, you great prat." John said feeling his entire body flood with warmth completely unrelated to the narcotics in his system. Sherlock heaved a great broken sigh in relief finally letting the stress and adrenaline seep out of his body as exhaustion dragged him toward sleep safe once again in his doctor's arms.

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"Mycroft?" Greg asked curiously as he strode toward John's hospital room. "What are you doing here? And why do you have a popper?"

Mycroft curled his lips into a vague smile that most would consider sinister but his partner considered adorable. He pulled the string on the little plastic toy and streamers popped out covering the DI in crinkled strings of paper.

"There's to be a wedding." Mycroft said with a satisfied smirk.

"You bugged the hospital room, didn't you?" Lestrade asked before grabbing the lapels of his government official roughly and tugging him down into a deep kiss.

"Indeed." Mycroft said breathlessly several minutes later.

"Mummy will shite a Faberge egg." Lestrade said with a smirk of his own.

"I wouldn't worry over much on that subject." Mycroft said deviously.

"Oh, really?" Lestrade asked curiously. "Come up with a plan, have you?"

"My dear Gregory, I impress even myself sometimes…" Mycroft said proudly.

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"I don't know about this." John said awkwardly adjusting his tie. "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

"The Board of the Directors of the hospital insisted." Lestrade shrugged. "Something about saving children with cancer from certain death."

"Still." John shifted. "Why does it have to be covered by the press? Can they just send Sherlock a muffin basket or something?"

"This isn't about Sherlock." Lestrade reminded him. "Sherlock was tied up twiddling his thumbs while you lead the charge to recover the stolen drugs."

"Yeah…" John shrugged. "But I was just trying to save Sherlock."

"Just consider it a bonus." Lestrade urged. "You deserve this."

John sighed heavily and rubbed at the headache forming directly behind his eye sockets. He patted down the cowlicks of his hair fruitlessly before glancing around the small dressing room and frowning.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked curiously.

"Mycroft mentioned something about a family function that couldn't be avoided." Lestrade said.

"Oh, right." John said confused.

"Ready, mate?" Lestrade asked.

"No." John said roughly. "Let's go."

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"Henry!" Mrs. Holmes called from her seat in front of the entertainment system. "Did you hear? My boys are going to be on television."

"Really, ma'am?" Henry asked politely.

"Yes!" she squealed. "They're accompanying their aunt, that crazy hippie, to present some Good Samaritan an award from the Hospital she owns for saving some children or something."

Henry politely turned to stare at the news coverage as the broadcast shifted to the two Holmes sons standing on either side of Mr. Holmes's sister. He turned just in time to watch Mrs. Holmes's features shift from giddy pride to shocked rage as one John Watson, ex-Army Doctor, stepped forward to receive recognition for bravery. As Mrs. Holmes clacked away angrily, Henry allowed a small grin to pass over his normally stoic features.

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"That was incredibly unnecessary." John had time to whisper to his fiancé before Sherlock's favorite aunt approached as the press packed away their cameras. Sherlock merely shrugged happily and wrapped an arm around his doctor's waist to keep him close.

"Oh, my dear Dr. Watson." She said with a serene smile lighting her features. "It is so very nice to meet you at last."

"Thank you." John said earnestly. "I'm so sorry we haven't met sooner."

"Oh, I don't blame you, dear." She waved her arm in the direction of her nephew. "I blame Sherlock. Foolish boy would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders."

John couldn't help but laugh before offering his arm to accompany her out of the room. He'd been told that the group would all be going to dinner together as well. They chatted pleasantly on the ride over to the restaurant with Lestrade and Mycroft holding up the bulk of the dialogue while Sherlock avoided the glaring looks John kept trying to send his way.

They were seated with starters and wine ordered before Dr. Viola Holmes cleared her throat calling order to the group.

"So, my dears." She said confidently. "I understand that we have a wedding to organize."

"That's the plan." Sherlock began. "Though John and I were considering just going to city hall and making it official rather quietly."

"Nonsense." His aunt chided. "We must have a celebration! It is incredibly lucky that you found someone worthy of you, Sherlock. We must celebrate that."

"The issue," Mycroft cut in deftly. "Is mother, of course."

No one was able to miss the glimmer of unrestrained glee that flashed across Dr. Viola Holmes's face.

"You leave that to me." She said, devilishly.

They spent the rest of the meal happily. Viola and John spent most of the main course and dessert discussing their experiences providing medical care abroad. Viola had received her medical degree and left the country with Doctors Without Borders for almost eight years before returning to London before splitting her time working in the oncology unit of the hospital and sitting on the Board of Directors. She was pleasant and engaging and obviously adored her somewhat socially inept nephews. They parted with mutual affection all around. They would be seeing much of each other over the next few months. Scheming and planning weddings do take up an awful lot of time.

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Mycroft Holmes sat behind his desk checking and cross-checking his agenda before sighing heavily, sending his PA a text, and leaning back to wait for the inevitable phone call. It was precisely 17.2 seconds later that his personal line rang shrilly announcing the call he'd been dreading for weeks.

"Mother." Mycroft answered.

"Please tell me that this is some kind of sick joke," His mother hissed over the line.

"So pleasant to hear your voice." He responded. "How's the garden coming along?"

"Don't you dare try to change the subject." She practically shouted. "What is that dirty blue-blooded nobody trying to do?

"Charming, as always." Mycroft said, attempting to keep his temper in check.

"You have to fix this, Mycroft." She continued. "I don't care what you do. Bribe him, send him away, have him killed. I don't care, but you make that filthy gold-digger disappear."

"I'll do no such thing." Mycroft answered. "Sherlock and _Dr. John Watson_ are getting married in three weeks. This is happening."

"Like hell it is." She said venomously. "I forbid Sherlock to marry him. I'll withhold his trust fund. Cut him out of the will."

"Ah, well…no, you won't." Mycroft said. "You see, Father and I discussed this possibility several months ago and he seemed rather, may I say, tickled at the idea of the marriage and promised me that he would take care of ensuring your interference in Sherlock's inheritance was categorically impossible."

"Months!" She shrieked. "How long has this disgusting charade been in the works?"

"Approximately 10 months to be precise." Mycroft answered promptly.

"And you withheld this information from me?" She said coldly. "You conspired behind my back?"

"We simply failed to include you in the planning process." He said evenly. "The boys didn't require your input in regards to venue, flowers, tuxedos, etc."

"Well, let's see how well the wedding goes when the vendors suddenly pull out." She said angrily. "I have that kind of control over these things, you know."

"Fortunately," Mycroft cut in. "Another potential retaliation that we've taken into account. Aunt Viola has been overseeing most of the arrangements and she seems to be more than confident in her ability to retain the services of the vendors despite your attempted interference."

Mrs. Holmes sputtered and fumed for several minutes before grasping at straws. "Well, Sherlock certainly won't go through with the ceremony if his mother isn't there to support the union! Therefore, I refuse to attend."

"How quaint." Mycroft said, finally feeling his anger and frustration slip. "Considering that you were conveniently unavailable to attend his graduation from Eton, refused to visit with Father and I during his gap-year Russia, were too busy with your girl's trip to Santorini to attend his graduation from Cambridge, were too embarrassed to visit him when he was getting clean at the rehab clinic, and not once made an effort to visit him in London, I can't imagine that he would be too put out if you were once again unable to put aside that massive ego and support your son in one of the happiest moments of his life."

The other end of the phone line was filled with several aborted attempts at rebuttals before his mother cleared her throat and hissed, "How dare you."

The click of his mother hanging up was more a relief than anything else. Whether she came or not was inconsequential, but he'd been determined to be honest with his mother in a way that he'd never been before out of respect for her delicate sensibilities. More than anything, he wanted his little brother to be happy. And if his mother couldn't muster the humility to make that effort, than she could rot in that estate house for all he cared.

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"Ready?" Sherlock asked giddy as he ran his fingers over his soon-to-be husband's tie.

"More than." John smiled, brushing the curls out of his detective's eyes.

A hesitant knock rang out and John walked quickly over to pull the door open.

"Mr. Holmes." John said with a hesitant smile.

"John." He said, firmly. "Good to see you. Are you both ready?"

"I believe so." He answered. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I am." He said happily. "These moors are incredibly unique. What made you choose them?"

"It seemed appropriate." Sherlock answered. "Being scared witless makes you focus your priorities. This is where I believe I truly made John my top priority."

"Yes, well." He said. "I do have someone who would like a word and who promises to be on her best behavior."

"Mother isn't actually someone I want to see right this second." Sherlock said grimly.

"Just hear me out." His mother said lightly entering the room.

"I think we've all heard enough of your vitriol on the subject." Sherlock answered. "The daily emails were more than adequate for me to grasp your opinion on my marriage."

"I know that I haven't been as…supportive…as I could have been about your relationship." She said, sounding like someone was digging a bullet out of her leg.

"Bit of an understatement, that." John said quietly.

She cringed in embarrassment as she continued, "But…I do want you to be happy. And if…this…makes you happy, then I'm fine with you marrying him."

"Don't actually need your permission." Sherlock answered.

"Well," She said. "Still…"

"Am I to assume that you want to attend the ceremony?" Sherlock asked.

"That's why I'm here." She answered.

"On one condition." Sherlock said.

"And what's that?" She asked.

"Apologize to John." Sherlock said. "He's the best man I have ever met and you have been nothing but vindictive and nasty since you met him."

Mrs. Holmes drew herself up with several deep breaths before turning to John and practically shuddering as she began, "Dr. Watson, I apologize for the way I've treated you and the things I've said over the past year. Can you possibly forgive my bad manners?"

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes, I can forgive you for your bad manners." John said quietly. "But, unfortunately, you didn't RSVP so we won't able to include you in the dinner count. But I've heard there's a Pizza Hut in the village. I'm sure they deliver."

Sherlock came up behind his fiancé and pulled him close against his chest as he watched his mother nod meekly and turn to go join the rest of the guests leaving them alone once more.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, Dr. Watson?" Sherlock murmured.

"I could stand to hear it a few more times, I think." John smiled, before turning to pull Sherlock into a passionate kiss.

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The ceremony was lovely. The boys were married without a hitch and the caterers were kind enough to rustle up an extra plate of food for Mrs. Holmes. They spent the afternoon laughing with friends and soon were hustled off to the private car so that they could spend their honeymoon at a small cottage that Mycroft and Greg had rented for them as a wedding present. They arrived just as twilight transformed everything into a cascade of deep reds, blues, and purples and they were just able to make out several beehives lining the property. They dropped their bags at the entryway before melting together in a fervent kiss. They quickly agreed that "yes, naked, right now" was their desired state of existence and practically ripped off each other's suits.

They spent their first night as husbands whispering desires and wishes and endearments into each other's skin as they moved together in wedded bliss. After successfully consummating their union, they curled together under the duvet letting their sweat cool as they caught their breath.

"I do believe you belong to me now, Dr. Watson." Sherlock said with a brilliant smile, playing with the white gold band on his husband's finger.

"Likewise, Mr. Holmes." John answered pressing a kissing to his forehead. "So, what do we do now?"

"I believe the sentiment is to live happily ever after." Sherlock answered.

"Seems a bit pedestrian for us." John answered cheekily.

"Maybe." Sherlock answered. "But we do have a way of exceeding expectations. Shall we show the world how it's done?"

"Forever." John promised before leaning in to kiss his husband lovingly in agreement.


End file.
